Duty To The Public
by VickyVicarious
Summary: Miles deals with his nerves by using snark and sarcasm. Phoenix has hidden doubts about their relationship. When Miles proposes, these factors collide in the worst possible way, and painful misunderstandings abound... Is it even possible to fix a relationship when both parties believe it to be completely broken?
1. Chapter 1

I had intended not to break my anonymity until I was done, but... I think this story is going to be in for the long haul. By which I mean, the updates will probably be quite rare. They will come, but infrequently. Given that, I decided to just go ahead and post it now.

I am following the basic idea of the prompt, but executing it a little differently. Also, have no fear, I plan a happy ending.

**Prompt: **Edgeworth finally proposes to Phoenix. Unfortunately, he's nervous, and deals with discomfort through snark and sarcasm, so when Phoenix asks if he's serious he makes some jerky comment like, "We may as well, the sex has gotten too vanilla for it to be a love affair."

Phoenix hasn't really seen the softer side of Edgeworth, and is suspicious that this is all a poor joke from the beginning, so when Edgeworth snarks at him he assumes the whole thing was just a rather mean-spirited way to comment on his sexual capabilities. He chews Edgeworth out, and makes some overblown comment about how they're through.

Edgeworth's never been too good at picking up on relationship cues, and thinks he was just rejected and dumped.

* * *

Miles stared at the television, pulse rushing, fingers clenching. This was what he had been waiting for. Not even just waiting for, in fact; he'd been using all his influence amongst various highly-placed city officials to discreetly push for exactly this. He'd been at the very _core_ of the effort. And yet somehow, it still took him by surprise to see his success so clearly scrolling across the screen before him.

'Japanifornia legalizes gay marriage...' slowly slid across the news bar underneath the current broadcast. Only when it disappeared entirely could Miles seem to breathe again. He tensed up as Phoenix straightened next to him.

"Oh – see that, Miles?" He only sounded mildly interested. "Looks like gay marriage is finally official. Took 'em long enough."

"Well," Miles said, then paused. He wet his lips. "It's not so much a lack of acceptance that delayed this so much as a lack of initiative. Of course, there are people who still oppose it, but... If any gay celebrity couple publicized news of their engagement, I'm quite certain they would be met with very little hostility."

"Celebrities..." Phoenix mused, falling back into the couch. He hooked one arm around Miles's shoulder, and pulled him down as well, chuckling. "What, like us?"

"...Yes, like us," Miles agreed. He turned slightly and met Phoenix's eyes. "Shall we then?"

Phoenix stared blankly back. "Shall we what?"

Miles attempted to chuckle confidently. It came out as more of a scornful snort. "Marry, of course."

The arm around his shoulders was snatched back. Phoenix physically reeled backward in shock. "Y-you can't be serious," he whispered.

That was not a promising reaction. Miles felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. "Of course I am," he sneered. "We may as well do our duty to the public."

Phoenix looked bewildered at first... but soon that expression morphed into hurt. "This is about that interview, isn't it?"

Miles couldn't contain a flinch at the mention. "Of course not."

"HOLD IT!" Phoenix slammed a hand down on the coffee table, pointing accusingly. "Don't lie to me! If you didn't want me to reveal our relationship, you should have told me it was supposed to be a secret!"

"I don't care if the world knows!" Miles snapped back. He was well aware that the conversation was getting off track, but this had been a touchy subject for nearly two months now, and besides, his nerves typically manifested in harshness or snarking. "That doesn't mean I appreciate you complaining about my bedroom habits to the whole city!"

"It was NOT a complaint," Phoenix said through gritted teeth. "I just said that biting might not be everyone's –"

"Every time I had a conversation in public for the next month, people would examine me for hickeys!" Miles shouted, slamming his own hands down on the coffee table. He had to turn sideways to do so, but habit demanded the gesture. "_For a month._"

Phoenix took a deep breath, visibly controlling himself. "I _said _I was sorry. It was the first time anyone ever interviewed me; I didn't know what to say."

"Oh yes," Miles scoffed. "So of course the solution is to blather on about how 'clinical' I am in this relationship."

"I said I was so–"

"I am not 'clinical'. I am anything but _'clinical'_."

"Well, 'anything but' is kind of stro-"

"And it's not as though _you_ are exactly a dynamo in bed."

"_What?_"

Miles shrugged, looking away. "Face it, Wright, the sex isn't really what anyone would call adventurous. There's another reason to get married – you're much too vanilla for me to call this a love affair. And since you seem so eager to involve the media–"

Phoenix jumped to his feet. "OBJECTION!" he bellowed.

Miles raised a sardonic eyebrow. "We aren't in court, Wright."

"Shut up!" Phoenix flushed bright red but didn't stop yelling. "I think I get what you're saying, _Edgeworth_. I really do. And you know what? I agree!"

All the anger left Miles in an instant. Hope wrenched at his gut - but the fury on Phoenix's face made him pause. "You… do?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." Phoenix's voice was shaking. That... was not happiness. "So you think I'm boring in bed? Fine. I don't think that, the way you _shout my name_ certainly doesn't indicate that, but FINE. I won't argue about that."

Miles stared up at his boyfriend. He wanted to deny the allegation, but he couldn't seem to move.

"What gets me," Phoenix continued, stomping over to the coat-stand and yanking his jacket back on, "is that you are so goddamn _ashamed_ of our relationship that you would actually joke about doing something like this just to give me a hard time about that DAMN interview." He disappeared out of sight around the corner. Numbly, Miles stood and followed.

"Yeah, I told the reporter we were dating!" Phoenix shouted. "Gee, _I'm_ sorry, I didn't realize you wanted me just to be some – some secret booty call!"

As bewildered and horrified he was at the turn this conversation had taken, Miles couldn't help but laugh at that. "Phoenix – you're no _booty call_."

"No," Phoenix agreed, shoving his feet into his shoes and yanking the front door open. "No I am not. Not anymore. Because we are OVER."

All sound seemed to cut out. Miles clutched at the doorframe for balance. "What?"

"You heard me," Phoenix snarled, and began stomping away down the hall. "You and I are through. Congratulations! Alert the presses!"

Miles stumbled out into the hallway after him. Without shoes. "What? No. Why would –"

He jerked to a halt before the closing elevator doors. Phoenix stood on the other side, hand slamming again and again on the 'close doors' button. The glare on his face was absolutely livid. Not a trace of confusion remained; just pure fury.

He knew Miles would never follow him onto an elevator. He knew why, as well, and usually made it a point never to use the damned things. This wasn't some tantrum; if Phoenix was actually getting on an elevator to escape from Miles, he _meant it_.

Miles, rejected thoroughly, froze – and let him leave.

-xxx-

From the very beginning, Miles had been far more passive in this relationship than Phoenix. Oh, he had been the one to initiate that first, drunken sexual encounter one night after Larry had dragged them out to a club, but if left to his own devices he would have left without a word in the morning and pretended it had never happened. No matter how much more he wanted; Miles knew himself well enough to recognize his lack of interpersonal skills, and sustaining a relationship was well beyond his abilities. _Beginning_ a romantic relationship was more than he could do, not when the partner in question was Phoenix Wright.

Phoenix, who he'd had his first crush on when he was nine years old. Who had defeated him and rescued him years later and would not take no for an answer until they'd rekindled some kind of friendship even after so long – despite what Miles had become. Whose ridiculous spiky hair actually _was_ natural, as he'd discovered once he became privy to Phoenix's pathetic excuse for a morning hygiene regimen (he brushed his teeth and that was _it_ – didn't even bother to shave unless it was a court day). Who smiled wide and naïve, took on insane clients and saved them again and again, was obsessed with keeping the toilet clean but couldn't be arsed to do the dishes until they were overflowing the sink. Who talked with his hands, looked people in the eyes, muttered sarcastic asides constantly under his breath and always seemed surprised when people responded – _Phoenix Wright_, who was far too important a person to lose.

Miles had been half in love with him for years.

He knew that he would ruin everything – he'd never even dated someone before, the extent of his sexual experience was a terrified snogging session with the daughter of one of Von Karma's associates at a party when he was seventeen. Terrified, because her fingernails had to be half an inch long and her lips were far too red and she looked like she wanted to _eat him_, not to mention Von Karma could have burst in on them at any minute (he did not, but Franziska catching them was arguably worse).

Even so, Miles hadn't been able to resist, not when he was a little drunk and Phoenix was warm and relaxed against him in the crowded bar, and he'd slid his hand into the defense lawyer's pocket with a surety that came out of nowhere and invited him back to his apartment.

Why Phoenix had accepted, and then confronted him in the morning with pancakes and the question 'would you like to go out with me?', Miles had no idea. He'd been too elated to hesitate; had tried desperately to mask the overwhelming extent of his feelings with nonchalance, as though he did this all the time; luckily, Phoenix seemed fooled. Ever since that first morning after, he had allowed Phoenix to call all the shots in advancing their relationship, partly because he didn't want to mess things up by being too serious too soon, and partly because he had no idea what relationships involved anyway.

For almost six months now, Miles had been passive. The absolute extent of his bravery so far had been when, after a month and a half of dating, he'd confessed his love.

Even then, Phoenix had spoken first. They were spending a lazy afternoon at Miles' home, the prosecutor recovering from an extremely busy week with a Steel Samurai marathon – it had just happened to be on TV, he told Phoenix, who nodded wisely.

"Of course it was," he said with a straight face but amused affection in his eyes, then – "I am so in love with you."

His voice had been matter-of-fact but soft nonetheless, and so honest it burned. Miles was caught off guard, and didn't even pause.

"I love you too," he replied, equally matter-of-fact.

Phoenix nodded, turned the television off, and spent the next several hours unraveling Miles with slow, sweet kisses and low murmurs of affection.

This proposal was going to be different. Miles was determined to do this on his own, to finally prove how much Phoenix meant to him. He wanted to be the one to take this step, to trust in their relationship that Phoenix would not _let_ him ruin things. He'd finally begun to believe this was something that might last, and – he wanted that to be _tangible_. He wanted to wake up next to Phoenix every single morning, not just occasionally. To eat breakfast together in the morning and scold Phoenix on the disaster that was his suit and sit at the kitchen table doing paperwork together and buy bathroom cleaner every other week to appease Phoenix's strange hobby and watch Steel Samurai reruns every Saturday morning with Phoenix's arms wrapped around him. To face each other in court after riding together to the courthouse in his sports car, matching rings on their fingers, and to go home together after unveiling the truth and fall into each other's arms and sleep on their designated sides of the bed after the daily argument about Phoenix hogging the blankets and Miles stealing pillows. And then to wake up and do it all over again.

Miles had hoped – no, he'd actually begun to _believe_ that would happen. For the first time, he'd pushed himself to step out on a limb and take a risk in the name of future happiness.

Standing barefoot and cold in the hallway of his apartment building, he watched the numbers above the elevator light up, one after another, counting down to _1_. That number stayed lit; Miles pictured Phoenix stomping away, angry and hurt and _never coming back_… and something went cold deep in his chest.

He had grown far too complacent. He never should have done anything. He should have taken only what he'd been given, and stayed satisfied with that. He should have – he should not have trusted Phoenix to feel the same. He should have known this was too fragile for any such – Phoenix had thought he was _joking_, he must've been so wrong about this relationship if Phoenix could think that.

Miles turned around, and walked back to his apartment. He locked the door behind him, turned off the television, and curled up very small in bed. He didn't cry; just breathed slowly with his eyes shut, cataloguing one by one all the ways that he had been wrong, that he had finally driven away the one person he'd wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

He could not keep that up forever, though, and the cold numbness spreading through him took on a harsher bite by the time Miles arrived for work the next day. He shoved his way into the courthouse, ignoring the flash of cameras and babble from various reporters – the victim in his next case had been a wealthy politician, and the defendant was his illegitimate son. Not to mention Phoenix was defending, and he'd garnered a lot of media attention of late for his stellar record and high-profile cases. With Miles prosecuting, it was a given the courthouse steps would be packed with more reporters than legal personnel – and although there were still two days till the first court day, they all seemed eager for an early start.

The reporters shouting questions outside the entrance wasn't anything new, and Miles had never bothered answering them – unlike Phoenix's flustered admissions the first time he'd been ambushed two months ago. But today, a certain question made him halt in his tracks.

Lotta Hart repeated herself, voice loud and excited. "Mr. Edgeworth, are ya gonna find it difficult to face off against Mr. Wright in court – seein' as you're dating and all?"

Miles stood still for a long moment. All the self-recriminations and despair of the night before slowly faded, replaced by Phoenix's harsh words, his flinch away, his angry expression as the elevator doors closed.

Miles felt dizzy, and not altogether present. It finally dawned on him that, however awful his phrasing, all he had done was propose. It had been _Phoenix_ who reacted so harshly. It had been Phoenix who thought the whole thing was some sort of cruel joke. It had been Phoenix who accused Miles of not valuing their relationship.

It had been Phoenix who walked away.

A slow, cold rage began to condense in Miles' chest. This wasn't his fault, he realized; far from it, _Phoenix_ was the one who did not trust or value _him_. The fact that he could ever believe Miles would _joke_ about something like this, or be honestly ashamed of their relationship, or use him for sex – where the hell had he been this past half a year? How could he even know Miles at all, if he actually believed such things?

"Mr. Edgeworth?" Lotta prompted. Miles took a deep breath.

"No," he told her coldly, looking straight into her camera. "Wright and I are no longer involved in any relationship other than court rivalry, so I anticipate no conflict of interest whatsoever."

Lotta blinked, and snapped a few pictures. "Huh?"

Miles smiled thinly, _raging_ inside, and hoped Phoenix was watching. "We've broken up."

He strode inside without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

His anger lasted all the way home. For Phoenix, this was a record; he rarely got truly angry and even when he did, it tended to be in quick, irrational outbursts that ended as suddenly as they had begun. So the fact that he stayed mad for the two hours it took to go home (he'd missed his bus and then was too irritated to wait for the next, so walking had taken much longer) was pretty significant. He fumed and kicked nearly every trashcan he passed, with the result that his toes were now aching and his shoes were scuffed, which just made his mood even worse.

But something about the sight of his cheap, scratchy couch and empty kitchenette just leeched all that fury out of him, and Phoenix trudged over and fell into the couch with a deep sigh. He lay there, face pressed directly into the cushion so that his nose was squished and it was hard to breathe, for several minutes, before finally dragging himself to a sitting position. Wearily, he freed his aching toes from their socks and shoes, and shrugged his jacket off before slouching over to the kitchen. He opened his fridge door and examined the contents.

A six-pack of cheap beer, half a watermelon, two eggs, and some leftover takeout stared back.

Phoenix sighed and took out a beer. He really needed to go shopping. He actually _liked_ cooking; there was no reason for his fridge to be in this state, except the perpetually empty state of his wallet, and the fact that lately, he'd been spending a lot of time at Miles'.

_Eurgh_. Phoenix chugged half the beer without taking a breath, then sat down on the kitchen floor and put his head in his hands. _Miles_. Shit.

He would have to apologize, he knew that. Sure, Miles' joke had been in poor taste – it was quite unlike him, but then, he had been very irritated about Phoenix's interview. In truth, Phoenix really hadn't said all that much – but he'd been so flustered at the thought people wanted to interview _him_, that he'd shared some of Miles' personal life with a group of people who really had no right to the knowledge, despite knowing how much he valued his privacy. Phoenix still thought Miles was more upset about the interview than he needed to be (it had been two months, he should just get over it already), and that joke tonight had been cruel… but that wasn't the point right now.

He'd overreacted. He knew that. Of course Miles didn't think of him as nothing more than some kind of sexual outlet. Miles valued his companionship highly; Phoenix was well aware of that.

And clearly that whole allegation about his lack of sexual prowess was just the sort of bull people blurted out when they were arguing. Phoenix was pretty convinced that he did all right in that compartment; sure, he didn't exactly have the kinkiest habits, but Miles never seemed to care. Right from the beginning, he had always been _very_ appreciative of Phoenix's efforts in bed – almost oddly so, really. Sure, he was good, but Phoenix hadn't thought he was quite _that_ good… But over time, Miles' stamina had gotten much better and Phoenix always assumed he'd just come out of a long dry spell when they first started going out.

Anyway, the point was that Phoenix had overreacted, and he knew it, and tomorrow he would have to make it up to his boyfriend. Miles had been a jerk, but not to the extent that he deserved a cliché 'We're through!' speech (Phoenix winced at the memory). Not to mention the elevator.

Phoenix winced again, drained the rest of the bottle, and elbowed open the fridge door in search of another one. Using the elevator had just been going too far. He was intimately acquainted with Miles' elevator issues, and had made it a point to avoid them himself whenever they were together. He'd never used the elevator in Miles' apartment building at all before today, and it felt sort of like a betrayal.

He'd just – he'd just been so _angry_. No, not even that, really… It hadn't been anger that prompted the fight, so much as hurt. Hurt that Miles actually cared so little, that his emotions for Phoenix were so clearly shallow enough to allow him to make a joke like that.

This wasn't news, of course. Phoenix had known from the start that there was a wide difference in their emotions, and he hadn't let it bother him until now. He'd told himself that every relationship was like this; one person always cared more than the other, it was just a question of _how much_. Given Miles' emotional reticence, the little he offered was more significant than three times as much from someone else would have been. So Phoenix didn't mind that Miles never asked him out, and rarely initiated physical contact. He'd only said he loved Phoenix a few times, looking supremely uncomfortable (and sounding supremely unconvincing) whenever he did so – but the fact that he even tried to reciprocate meant a lot. Miles cared as much as he was able.

Normally, Phoenix wasn't bothered much. Today was just so… unexpected. He'd been smacked in the face with something he normally pretended did not exist; and he'd lashed out more harshly than Miles deserved. He wasn't truly angry at his boyfriend, not anymore.

Phoenix wasn't angry, and in retrospect he wasn't even all that surprised. Mostly, he just felt tired. And sad.

His dinner consisted of all six beers and a few spoonfuls of watermelon before Phoenix gave up and sprawled across the couch, watching crime dramas in a depressed, drunken stupor until three in the morning.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he would apologize and set this right. Just now, the thought of calling Miles made him feel sick to his stomach, but tomorrow Phoenix would fix this, and everything would go back to normal.

He sighed, watching the hero face off against the enemy-of-the-episode, and tried not to notice that _normal_ only made him think of the disdainful curl to Miles' lips during his 'proposal', and how his gut had dropped all the way to the bottom of the Marianas Trench.

-xxx-

Phoenix woke of his own volition at one in the afternoon. When he blearily checked his phone to see why the alarm hadn't woken him on time, it was dead. He took that as a sign that he should take the day off. It was only Tuesday and he had a hugely important trial to prepare for in two days, so it was not exactly the best timing for a day off, but Phoenix didn't care. Despite the extensive press coverage, this was actually by far one of the easier cases he'd ever taken. He already knew the 'murder' was nothing but an accident, and had a solid alibi for his client, so he did not much care about preparing.

Well, not for the trial, anyway. There was still plenty that could be done.

After a brunch of leftover Chinese food, Phoenix dressed in casual clothes and headed out to do some shopping. He scoped out all the on-sale items and managed to scrabble together enough ingredients for a cake. It was frivolous to bake a cake instead of getting sixteen boxes of ramen or oatmeal or something, but Phoenix didn't really mind. In a few days he'd be getting paid for his 'big trial', and he could last until then.

He ambled slowly back home, enjoying the sunshine, and then turned the radio on a classical music station while he baked. To be honest, he didn't even like classical music, but Miles played it all the time and it got stuck in his head. Phoenix didn't know the names of anything he was listening to, but there was something soothing and fond in the music, and it went well with the bright sunshine and flour for some reason. He found himself humming along.

Miles didn't actually like cakes, Phoenix knew, but that was mostly because they were too sweet, so a lemon cake might be appreciated. He hoped it would be, anyway, because he knew how to change a vanilla cake recipe into a lemon cake one, but that was the extent of his relevant baking knowledge. He didn't have a cookbook or computer at home to look up a different recipe, so he could only go by memory. Miles would probably eat a piece to be polite even if he didn't like it, but Phoenix was pretty sure he'd enjoy this. He got it in the oven, then went into his bedroom and dug around throughout the back of his closet for a long time before finally finding what he was looking for: a rare limited edition Steel Samurai collectible card that Will Powers had given to him as part of his payment. Phoenix had been hanging onto it for sentimental reasons, but he knew Miles would be thrilled to receive it – even if he pretended not to know what it was.

The oven beeped, so Phoenix went and rescued the cake, which looked decidedly amateurish but smelled tasty nonetheless. He noticed he'd forgotten to put his phone on the charger so he did that, and then took a lengthy, thorough shower before spending far too long picking out which clothes to wear. When he was finally dressed (in a regular t-shirt and jeans, despite all the deliberation), he put the cake on a plate and strewed some plastic-wrap over it, then headed out the door, grabbing his phone and wallet on the way. Miles wouldn't be home for hours yet, but it was a nice day. He could hang out on a park bench for a while.

Phoenix knew he was being a little ridiculous. A cake and a collectible card weren't going to solve any problems, not really. But it felt better than showing up empty-handed. And he didn't really want to solve whatever problems festered beneath the comfortable surface of his and Miles' relationship. There was this low ache in his throat every time he thought about those problems, the sort of ache that came of knowing Miles would probably leave rather than work through them. If it were even possible to work through something as simply uncontrollable as their problem.

No, all Phoenix wanted was to apologize and be forgiven, and then never mention this again. Which was probably extremely unhealthy, but – the sun was warm, the sky blue, a light breeze was in the air, and he didn't want to think.

Phoenix lay on his back across the bench, cake on his lap, and closed his eyes. Then he opened them, and reached for his phone; if he didn't set an alarm for himself he'd end up falling asleep and staying that way until nighttime.

It was still off; he'd forgotten to turn it on when it was on the charger. As soon as Phoenix powered up the device, it started buzzing in his hands: he had twenty-three missed calls, eight voicemails, and twelve text messages. Blinking, he sat up – then fumbled for the cake, which was slipping towards the ground.

Most of the calls were from Maya, so he called her back first. She answered on the first ring.

"Nick! Oh, Nick, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said dubiously. "What about you? Maya, is everything all right?"

She huffed into the speaker. "Of course _I'm_ fine, I'm worried about you! What _happened _with Mr. Edgeworth?"

Phoenix wondered momentarily if Kurain had branched out to mind-reading. He glanced guiltily at the cake. "Um, nothing." He looked at the cake again. "Okay, so we kind of had an argument, but I really don't think it's anything you need –"

"Don't lie to me, Nick!" Maya scolded. "I know it wasn't just an argument!"

"…What?"

"_Nick_," she sighed. "He told some reporters. The story is on the front page of the _Litigator's Libel_."

"What is that," Phoenix asked in mild horror. "Is that a gossip magazine about lawyers? That is a terrible name for a magazine. The name actually _tells you_ they're lying."

"It's an online magazine," Maya said haughtily. "And I like it. They called me your 'trusty sidekick' a while ago."

"What kind of lawyer has a trusty sidekick?" Phoenix asked. "You are not my trusty sidekick."

"I am too!" Maya snapped. "Stop trying to distract me!"

"Distract you from _what_, exactly?"

"From the fact that you broke up with Mr. Edgeworth, of course! What else?"

Phoenix dropped his phone. When he picked it up, Maya was saying "-orried! Where are you? I've been waiting at the office all day!"

"I took the day off," Phoenix said slowly, still processing. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you."

"Oh." Maya's voice grew very small. "No, it's okay. I was just –"

"–worried, I get it. Thanks." Phoenix smiled slightly, as if she could see him. "Um, just to clarify, Miles told a bunch of – he told the press that we broke up?"

Maya cleared her throat, and said, in an oddly deep voice, "'Just Not Wright For Me'. That's Wright with a 'w', you know, so it's like –"

"I get it, Maya," Phoenix sighed, and rubbed a hand across his face.

"That's the title of the article," she said quietly, then adopted her reading voice once more. "'We've broken up,' announces Miles Edgeworth, widely known as the Demon Prosecutor, voted Solicitor Stud three years running, a bitter smile playing about his refined features. The heartbreak is evident in his eyes –"

"Okay, okay, just – stop. Stop reading," Phoenix said. Then, "He said that? Not the stupid 'Solicitor Stud' crap, but – he said that we broke up. To – to the presses."

"Yeah," Maya agreed hesitantly. "I thought – I thought you knew."

"Oh, no, no, of course I did," Phoenix laughed. It came out rather hoarsely. "I was the one who suggested it, actually. I'm just – surprised he went through with it – you know, because he hates reporters…"

He cleared his throat. His eyes were stinging. Maya was silent on the other end of the line.

The sky was very blue.

"You know what, Maya," Phoenix said. His voice cracked a little on her name. "I'm just going to – I'll see you tomorrow, okay? And we can talk then. You don't have to worry about me."

"But –"

"I'll explain it all tomorrow," Phoenix said. "So just… go home, okay? Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

The sky looked quite blurry. He closed his eyes. Maya said, "Nick–"

"_Tomorrow_, Maya. And… thanks for letting me know."

Phoenix hung up very gently, and tucked the phone back into his pocket. He sat in the sun, head hanging over the back of the bench. He felt very warm and very heavy and like he should have seen this coming.

He had not seen this coming.

Eventually, he got up, wiping at his cheeks. He picked up his lemon cake, battled an urge to drop-kick it, and walked until he found a homeless person.

"You like lemon cake?" Phoenix asked.

The man gave him a look like he'd found Phoenix on the bottom of his shoe. Which, in turn, had been in a dumpster. "_No_. I like _chocolate_."

Phoenix stared. He wanted to think something witty and sarcastic, but all that seemed to come was _you are not very nice_, which was neither.

"Oh," he said, and walked until he found a different homeless person. He shoved the cake at her and left before she could refuse it too, then walked home.

The classical music was still playing on the radio. He had forgotten to turn it off.

Phoenix burst out laughing, (because he _hated_ classical music) and unplugged the radio so violently it fell off the counter and broke into a million useless bits of plastic. He kicked the piece of junk, which hurt his toes again, then went to bed fully dressed and laughed and laughed, rolling around in the sheets.

He didn't even know why he was laughing, except that he hated classical music and he loved Miles Edgeworth and that was all over now and he _had_ seen it coming but he just didn't want to admit it, and they were in court together two days from now and that was somehow just the funniest thing.

His laughter was wet, and gasping, and hurt deep beneath his breastbone. He laughed for a long time.


End file.
